


Get Some Rest

by ladyschrei



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Sickfic, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyschrei/pseuds/ladyschrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard, now Master of Lake-town, along with his three children, are helping to rebuild the town after its desolation by the dragon Smaug. Everything goes fine, until Bain falls ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Some Rest

Bain isn't sure when he started feeling like this, all he knows is that he feels it now. His body feels weak, his muscles sore, and he wishes for nothing more than to go home and rest, but he knows he cannot, as there is still much to do. It's only been a few weeks since the restoration of Lake-town began, and while much has been completed, there is still that much more needing done.

The sky today is a lot clearer than it has been, the winter gray finally moving out and bringing in spring skies in its stead. The hot sun bears down on Bain as he makes his way towards the hospital situated at the end of town, carrying food and medical supplies his father, Bard, Master of Lake-town, just returned with not long ago from his voyage to the realm of the Woodland Elves, ruled strict by their leader, King Thranduil.

Sweat drips down Bain's face as he carries the many bags of supplies, his breaths coming in short, little gasps as he makes his way up the hospital steps and inside the open double doors, setting the bags down on the floor and wiping the sweat from his forehead on the sleeve of his jacket. A few female attendants, one around the age of his elder sister Sigrid, hurry over to collect the bags, searching through them and taking inventory out loud as they go. The familiar older girl – though Bain has seen her around before, he cannot seem to put a name to her face – pulls an apple from one of the bags and offers it to him, smiling at him as she does so.

“For your troubles,” she says kindly, and Bain wipes his palms on the front of his pants, taking the apple from her and smiling back.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a bite of the apple and waving at them in parting, heading back outside and leaning against the wooden railing.

The juice from the apple runs down his throat and suddenly his mouth feels more dry than it had a few minutes ago, Bain doing his best to chew the bite and forcing himself to swallow it, coughing when he does and shaking his head to clear the fog in it. The sun reflects bright in his eyes off the water and he puts his free hand up to shield them, his head beginning to throb as he starts sweating heavily again. His legs begin to feel weak, as if they cannot support the rest of his body, and Bain drops down on the steps, swiping his palm across his forehead as he takes in deep, gasping breaths, trying to will himself to stand back up again.

Bain squeezes the apple in his hand, feeling juice trickle down his fingers and onto his wrist, and he chucks the apple into the water, grabbing the railing with both hands and using the rest of his strength to pull himself back up again, forcing himself to walk down the rest of the steps and to continue on his way back to his duties. Dizzily, he staggers into a few people as he walks, earning dirty looks and a call of, “Watch it, boy!” from an angry man. Bain holds his hand up and mumbles an apology, his entire body burning with the heat of the sun as he tries to figure out which way he's supposed to be going. He doubles over suddenly and begins to cough, sweat dripping down into his eyes and causing them to sting, and he feels a hand touch the middle of his back, followed by a friendly, elderly voice talking into his ear.

“Are you alright there, sonny?” a woman asks, giving him a nearly toothless smile, and Bain straightens up, taking a deep breath and nodding.

He mumbles something – he thinks he tells her that he's fine – and tries to take a few steps forward to prove it, his legs going out as he collapses to the ground and rolls onto his side with an inaudible groan. His vision blurs and his heart pounds in his ears, and in the distance he hears someone shouting.

“Get the Master!” is the last thing Bain remembers hearing before he passes out.

* * *

Bain wakes up with a startled gasp, covering his eyes with his hands and whimpering quietly. He feels something wet touch his fingertips and wonders if he's bleeding, wonders where he even is to begin with. He hears footsteps scuttling away from him, and a voice – Tilda's, he recognizes – begins shouting.

“Da, he's awake! He's awake!”

Bain blindly tries to sit up when he hears thundering footsteps coming closer, but not even an instant later he's being pushed back against the pillows, calloused fingers cupping his cheek and stroking over the skin there.

“Bain?” a voice asks quietly and Bain's vision finally begins to focus, the bed dipping down next to him as his eyes come to rest on his father's face. His expression is one of great worry, dark circles ringing his eyes as if he hasn't slept in days, and Bain knowing his father, he probably hasn't.

“Da? What happened?” Bain mumbles, his throat dry, and he leans into his father's warm touch, letting his eyes flutter closed again and sighing.

“Sigrid, go get your brother a glass of water. Hurry,” Bain hears his father tell his sister, and there's a pause before the sound of footsteps running from the room, more than one pair; Tilda must've gone with her. “Bain, hey, look at me.”

Bain opens his eyes again and glances at his father, Bard taking off his forehead what Bain now realizes to be a wet cloth and not the blood he thought he felt on his hand earlier. Bard leans down and dips the cloth into a bucket of water sitting next to the bed, wringing it out before soothing the damp material over Bain's cheeks and forehead.

“You gave me quite the scare earlier,” Bard says, smiling at Bain, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and Bain knows how worried his father must really be. “You fainted, Bain. You were overheated, with a fever on top of that. Why didn't you tell me you felt ill?” Bard asks, searching his son's face, and Bain shrugs weakly, licking his chapped lips.

“I didn't want you to worry. I wanted to help. I thought I was helping,” Bain mumbles as Sigrid appears in the doorway, walking over to the bed and handing Bard a glass full of water, Tilda climbing onto the bed behind their father and hugging her doll tightly to her chest.

Bard sets the cloth and glass down on the small wooden table next to Bain's bed, gently placing his hand on the small of Bain's back and nodding to him.

“Alright, we're gonna sit up now. Nice and slow,” Bard says and Bain puts his palms flat on the bed, slowly pushing himself up while Bard helps him to sit.

Sigrid quickly rearranges Bain's pillows to help make him more comfortable, fluffing and stacking them for him to lean against. Once she's done, Bain relaxes against them and accepts the cup of water from his father, taking a small sip and then a bigger one, gulping down the water to help soothe his dry throat. Bard takes the cup from him once he's finished and replaces it on the table, pressing his hand against Bain's forehead and frowning, shaking his head.

“Your fever is still up,” he mumbles and Bain groans, Bard replacing the cool cloth on his forehead.

“How long was I asleep for?” Bain asks quietly, glancing at the window and noticing the sky steadily beginning to darken.

“A couple hours. I was so worried about you,” Bard whispers, cupping Bain's cheek again, and Tilda whimpers behind him.

“Da, will Bain be okay?” she asks with wide eyes, Sigrid wrapping herself around her younger sister and hugging her.

“He'll be okay, Tilda. He just needs rest. We should leave him to sleep,” Sigrid says and Tilda whines again but nods, getting down from the bed and hurrying to climb in front of Bard, leaning up to quickly kiss her brother's cheek.

Bain smiles at her and ruffles her hair, Sigrid kissing his cheek as well before taking Tilda's hand and leading her from the room, Tilda excitedly talking about making Bain a “get well” gift. Bard smiles at them as he watches them leave, glancing at the window and then at Bain.

“You can go, Da. I know you still have a lot to do,” Bain says and Bard searches his face, his own expression unreadable.

“Are you absolutely sure? Because I can stay if you need me to. I'm the Master now, I can do that kind of stuff,” Bard says, giving a small laugh, and Bain smiles at him.

“No, you can't, Da. I'll be fine. Sigrid and Tilda are here if I need them.”

Bard nods, ruffling Bain's hair and rubbing his arm gently. “Promise me you'll stay in bed and rest.”

“Da-”

“Promise me, Bain,” Bard says sternly and Bain sighs, nodding.

“I promise, Da.”

“Good. Because I don't want to leave here knowing something could happen to you,” Bard says, standing, and Bain slides further down onto the bed, shifting around to settle in for some sleep.

Bard pulls the covers up to his chin and tucks him in, adjusting the cloth on his forehead and clearing his throat. “Okay, then, I'm off. I'll tell Sigrid to bring you a cup of tea, that may help you feel better,” Bard says and Bain nods, watching his father head for the door, and Bard taps on the doorknob with his open palm, looking back to Bain and smiling. “Sleep well, Bain,” he says, then heads into the hall and closes the door.

Bain heaves a sigh and glances at the window, wishing he could be out there helping his father, and then decides it's best not to think about it, closing his eyes and willing for sleep to overtake him.

* * *

Bain lays his book down in his lap and sighs, leaning back against his pillows and glancing out at the dark sky. When he had first awoken he had called for Sigrid, who told him he had slept for a good two hours or so, then helped him to fill up the bath with hot water. Bain then quickly bathed, scrubbing the sweat and grime from his skin, and it helped him to feel a little better. That was about an hour ago; now he lays in bed in his nightgown, not sure what to do with himself. He's hot yet cold at the same time, tired but awake, restless and unable to focus for more than a few minutes at a time on his book. He wishes his father were home, sure that his company would help to put his mind at ease.

As if on cue, Bain hears the excited shouts of his sisters downstairs, scuttling feet hurrying across the wood floors as they yell, “Da!” in unison. He hears the laughter of his father and curls up under the covers, wanting to get out of bed and go downstairs to greet him but fearing he'd be scolded if he did.

Some minutes later, while Bain is lost in his own thoughts, the bedroom door opens suddenly and surprises him, making him jolt in bed with a startled gasp. Sigrid giggles in the doorway and moves aside for Bard, who comes in holding a wooden tray in both hands and smiles down at her.

“Thank you, Sigrid,” he says and she nods, smiling in at Bain.

“Sorry, Bain, didn't mean to scare you,” she says, shutting the door as Bard walks over to the bed, setting the tray down on the bedside table and sitting next to Bain.

“Feeling any better?” he asks as Bain moves over to give him some room, his father picking up the book in his lap and closing it to look at the title, setting it down at the end of the bed and smiling at Bain.

“Not really,” Bain mutters, pulling the covers up a little higher, and Bard frowns, soothing sweaty hair back from his forehead to press his palm there.

“You're still warm. I'm sorry,” Bard says and Bain glances up at his father, Bard tucking strands of hair behind his son's ear and rubbing his arm. “You look tired,” Bard observes quietly and Bain shrugs.

“So do you,” he says and Bard nods, standing up and grabbing the tray.

“Come then, sit up. I brought you soup and medicine,” he says and Bain groans, sitting up and letting his father place the tray in his lap, Bard laughing. “I know. Eat first, medicine after,” he says, grabbing the chair from Bain's desk and setting it next to the bed, picking up the discarded book and flipping though it.

“Want me to read to you?” Bard asks as Bain puts some crackers in his soup, pushing them down with his spoon to soften them, shrugging as Bard glances over at him.

“Up to you,” he says softly and takes a spoonful of soup, Bard clearing his throat and flipping through the book absentmindedly.

“I'm sorry, Bain. I know you don't want to be laid up like this. Trust me, I don't want you to either. But you have to get better.”

Bain huffs and flops back against his pillows, waving his hands in the air before letting them drop down on the mattress next to him.

“It's just not fair, Da!” he whines and Bard nods, crossing his legs and setting the book in his lap.

“I know, trust me, I know. But there's nothing we can do now except wait it out. Tell me where you were in the book,” Bard says, motioning to it, and Bain sits up, adjusting his pillows and returning to eating.

“Will you start from the beginning?” he asks and Bard nods, opening the book and smoothing down the first page.

He begins to read softly as Bain takes his time eating, finishing his bowl of soup and about half his glass of water. Once he's done, Bain relaxes against his pillows and listens to his father read for some time longer, his calm voice starting to lull him to sleep, but Bard gently shakes him awake before he's pulled completely under.

“Hey, gotta take your medicine,” Bard whispers and Bain groans, sitting up and taking the small cup of liquid his father hands him.

Bain sniffs the medicine and wrinkles his nose, Bard laughing and nodding to him. Bain takes a deep breath and tips the medicine back into his mouth, coughing and nearly spitting it out when he does. He finally manages to swallow it and shudders, gasping for air and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He makes a disgusted noise and takes a large sip of his water, Bard moving the tray off him and letting him settle back down into bed. Bard tucks him in and kisses his forehead softly, sitting back down and continuing to read from where he left off. It doesn't take long before Bain is fast asleep.

* * *

Bain wakes up shaking and in a cold sweat, whimpering when a sudden pain passes through his stomach. He curls in on himself and clutches at his blankets, taking deep breaths and waiting for it to pass. He pushes damp hair back from his forehead and untangles his legs from his sheets, standing and clutching the bedpost as a dizzy spell and wave of nausea hit him all at once. He gasps and stumbles through the dark over to the window, sliding apart the curtains and pushing out on the panes. He breathes in the cold gust of air that greets him and watches the moon reflecting on the water's surface, gripping the window frame when another sharp pain rolls through him.

Bain hurries back over to his bed and flops down onto it with a groan, the nausea worse this time. He pulls his pillow to his chest and curls around it, praying for sleep that does not come. The pain comes and goes in uneven intervals for the next little while, each time as bad as the last, and Bain, fed up and exhausted, waits for the next cramp to pass before he gets up and heads for his father's room, hoping perhaps he'll have something that can help make him sleep.

The house is dark from top to bottom, a lot bigger than what the four of them used to share before the dragon desolated the town, but now that Bard is Master, they get something a bit more accompanying for the lot of them. Bain knows his way through the dark hall to his father's room without fail; he and his sisters shared a few nights in there already when they couldn't sleep due to nightmares of the dragon. The bedroom door creaks when Bain opens it, the sound of his father's soft breathing filling the room, and Bain quietly steps over to the bed, sitting down next to his father and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Da?” Bain whispers and Bard stirs a bit, mumbling in his sleep, and Bain shakes him again, his father snorting as he blinks awake.

“Mmm, what? What's happened?” Bard asks, his voice slurred with sleep, and Bain feels him shifting around in the bed. “Tilda, is that you?”

“No, Da, it's me,” Bain says quietly and he feels his father lean towards him, hearing him fumbling around for something in the dark.

Bain winces when there's a sudden flickering light, his father having struck a match to light the lantern on the bedside table. Bard blows the match out and sets it down, leaning back against his pillows and clearing his throat, patting Bain's leg reassuringly.

“Hey, you have a nightmare?” Bard asks, his voice filled with sleep, and Bain shakes his head, taking in how tired his father looks and suddenly feeling a bit childish for having woken him up to begin with.

“No, I just...” Bain trails off, unsure of what to say, and before he knows it, hot tears are streaming down his face.

Bard sits up in alarm and pulls Bain against his chest, Bain letting out a small sob as his father begins to rock him slowly, holding him tight and stroking his hair gently.

“Bain, what is it? What's happened?” Bard asks and Bain clutches at his father's nightgown, crying against him.

“My stomach hurts,” Bain says through his tears, hiccuping, and he grips his father tighter. “And my head hurts. And I'm hot. And t-tired,” he says, sniffling, and Bard shushes him quietly, rubbing his back.

“Okay. It'll be okay, Bain. Just relax,” his father soothes, continuing to rock Bain until he's started to calm down. “Okay? See, you're okay.”

Bain nods tiredly and slowly sits back, Bard rubbing his arms and searching his face, thumbing the rest of his tears away.

“You alright?” Bard asks and Bain nods, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he says, his father feeling his forehead and frowning some more.

“You're still warm. I was hoping a good night's sleep would help make you feel better. Obviously not, huh?” Bard asks with a small smile and Bain laughs tiredly, sniffling. “Okay, here's what we're going to do,” Bard says and Bain stands from the bed, Bard climbing out from under the covers and grabbing his lantern. “I'm going to take you back to bed, and you rest while I make you some tea. Sound good?” he asks and Bain nods, Bard putting a hand on his shoulder and following him back to his room.

Bard shivers when they get inside Bain's room and looks at the open window, heading towards it, but Bain stops him.

“Can we leave it open for a little while? It feels nice,” he says and Bard nods, helping him back into bed and lighting the lantern on his bedside table, turning it down on low.

“You try to sleep now. I'll be back in a few minutes with your tea,” Bard says, softly stroking Bain's hair and disappearing back into the hall.

Bain closes his eyes, crying having exhausted him further, and he's on the edge of sleep when a wave of nausea makes him bolt awake again, gagging and swallowing some bile that's risen in his throat. He gasps for breath and hugs his pillow to his chest, groaning in frustration and laying back down once the feeling has passed. He stays like that until he hears the shuffling of his father's feet by his door, opening his eyes and glancing over at him.

Bard comes in and sets his lantern and the cup of tea down next to Bain's bed, Bain pointing over to the waste bin in the corner.

“Can I have that?” he asks and Bard nods, making sure there's no trash inside before setting it down next to the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asks and Bain groans, squeezing his pillow and sighing.

“I almost threw up,” Bain mutters and Bard grabs the book from earlier off the trunk at the end of Bain's bed, bringing over the desk chair and sitting down in it.

“Let your tea cool down and then you can drink it, hopefully it'll help settle your stomach,” Bard says, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and Bain turns onto his side to face his father, Bard thumbing through the pages to find where left off at.

“Da, you can go back to sleep now. You don't-”

“Shh, none of that. I'm not leaving until I know you're alright.”

“But Da-”

The stern look Bard gives his son silences him and Bain huffs into his pillows, then sits up and accepts the cup of tea from his father.

“And you say I can be stubborn,” Bain mutters into his tea and Bard laughs, sitting back and beginning to quietly read from the pages.

Bain sips his tea and sets it back down on the bedside table, pulling one of his thin sheets over his body and settling down into bed. His eyes drift closed a few times but automatically snap back open, making him groan and mutter to himself, punching the pillows to try and get comfortable again. When he begins to shiver, Bard gets up and closes the window, pulling the curtains back into place and sitting back down. It's then that Bain sits up and grabs the trash can, heaving into it.

Bard is at his side in an instant, the bed dipping down from his weight, and he gently pulls sweaty strands of hair back from Bain's face, talking to him soothingly.

“That's it, that's it, let it out,” Bard says, rubbing Bain's back in small circles. “Just let it out. I'm right here.”

Bain's eyes water with tears as he continues to cough up what's left in his stomach, his throat burning and his entire body shaking with the force of it. He moans and leans back against his father, Bard's left hand going up to card his fingers through Bain's hair and his right going around Bain's waist to hold him still, Bain sucking in deep breaths and clutching at the trash can.

“Are you okay? Breathe through your nose. You'll be okay,” Bard says calmly and Bain gives a small nod, whimpering almost inaudibly and just letting himself be held.

“Da,” Bain rasps. “I'm sorry.”

“Hush, none of that,” Bard says, petting Bain's hair until he's calmed down, both of them silent save for Bain's heavy breathing filling the room around them.

Once Bain has stopped trembling, Bard helps him to lean back against the pillows and makes sure his head is supported before taking the can and setting it back down, opening the window a little bit again and letting some fresh air in, Bain nodding tiredly at him in appreciation. Bard tucks him in and pulls the desk chair a little closer to the bed, picking up the discarded book off the floor and trying to find the place he abruptly stopped at.

Bain's eyes flutter shut and he hears his father whisper, “Get some rest, Bain,” before he begins to read softly.

Bain isn't sure how long it takes, but eventually he does.

* * *

There's a hint of sunlight behind the curtains, and Bain knows it must be early morning, though most of the room is still dark. His body is heavy with sleep and he squints to see, sensing movement and hearing voices that jumble together in his head, becoming more clear as his mind slowly begins to wake.

“Did you sleep in that chair all night? You look exhausted,” a concerned voice says, followed by someone quietly shushing them, and Bain shuts his eyes and pretends to sleep while he listens.

“Keep your voice low, please. I don't want your brother to wake. He had a rough night,” says a tired voice Bain recognizes as his father's.

There's a pause and Bain hears someone step closer to the bed, betting anything it's Sigrid, and when the voice speaks up again, he finds he's right.

“Will he be okay, Da? I'm scared for him,” she says, her voice cracking towards the end, and an unexpected cold hand touches Bain's forehead, then throat, making him shiver.

“His fever feels as though it's gone down,” Bard says, drawing the blankets tighter around Bain, and Bain hears him stifle a yawn. “He'll be okay, Sigrid, he just needs to rest. You've all taken on a lot these past couple of weeks, and it seems as though it's all just caught up with him. Why don't you stay home and rest, too? I don't need you overworking yourself as well.”

“I'll be fine, Da, I promise.”

“Sigrid-”

“I promised I'd help at the hospital today. I can't go back on my word, Da. You always taught us that-”

“-That a man is only as good as his word, I know,” Bard says, his voice sounding defeated but proud. “I'm just worried about you. All three of you. I can't stand to see any of you sick like this.”

“Maybe it was just a twenty-four hour bug,” Sigrid muses hopefully, and a couple seconds later Bain hears wood creak, assuming she's sat down in his desk chair.

“We can only hope,” Bard says, yawning again. “I'm going to go bathe, then find a neighbor to watch Bain and Tilda. Will you stay with him for a little while, in case he gets sick again?”

“Yes, Da, I will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

A pair of lips graze quickly across Bain's forehead and then he hears the sound of his father's retreating footsteps, the door closing with a soft click that leaves the room in silence. Not a second later and Bain feels the bed dipping down beside him, gentle hands pushing hair back from his face.

“I know you're not asleep,” Sigrid's voice says teasingly above him and Bain's eyes open, blinking to clear the leftover sleep from them as he focuses on her face.

Her long hair is tangled with bedhead, falling down past her shoulders, and she smiles at him, Bain glancing towards the window and watching the sun creep in around the curtains, sending shadows sprawling across the floor. He sits up and reaches for the cup of water on the nightstand, taking a sip and groaning at the taste, lukewarm water running down his dry throat. Sigrid takes the cup from his hand and gets up, silently leaving, and Bain waits until she's gone before he decides to stand.

He pulls open the single drawer on the bedside table and looks inside, not much there save for a few small items, but what he takes out is encased in a wooden box, Bain setting it on top of the table and carefully opening it. Inside lay a hairbrush, but not the normal one he uses every day; no, for this one is special. His name is engraved on the handle, and he runs his fingers delicately over the markings, a lump catching in his throat. He looks at it like this every day, holds it in his hands, but never does he use it for fear of it breaking. It's something his mother made him before she passed, Tilda and Sigrid each having their own as well, and Bain cradles it to his chest as he climbs back into bed, just in time to hear Sigrid's footsteps nearing outside his door. She comes inside, closing the door behind her and bringing him the fresh cup of water, and Bain takes it from her gratefully, taking a few gulps and setting it down as Sigrid again sits beside him.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice hoarse, and he wipes his lips on the back of his hand, Sigrid frowning but doing as he says.

Bain takes the brush and hesitates before he slowly runs it through her hair, catching on a knot and making her wince. He apologizes quietly and continues to brush her hair, Sigrid sitting still as he works until her hair is smooth and tangle-free. Bain runs his fingers through it to find any knots and, satisfied when he doesn't, sits back and picks out her loose hairs from between the dark bristles, idly tossing them to the floor. Sigrid turns around and her eyes catch sight of the brush, her expression falling for a second as she realizes what it is.

“Is that...”

“Yeah,” Bain says quietly, then clears his throat. “Do you use yours?”

“No. Tilda does, though. She says it makes her feel closer to Ma.” Sigrid stands and tosses her hair over her shoulder, taking the brush from him and replacing it in its box, setting it back down inside the drawer and slowly pushing it closed. “How do you feel? Da is worried sick about you.”

“I know, I heard,” Bain says, licking his lips and sipping his water again before answering. “Better. But my throat hurts. And I'm hungry,” he says with a smile and Sigrid laughs, shaking her head.

“I'm going to make breakfast then. Da needs something to eat before he leaves, anyway. Try to get some rest until then,” she says and Bain nods, sliding back down under the covers, and Sigrid watches him for a minute before she heads to the door, stepping out into the hall and pulling it shut behind her.

Bain doesn't feel that tired anymore, instead he's wide awake, but soon he finds himself dozing off to the pleasant smell of eggs wafting under the door.

* * *

When Bain wakes again, it's to the busy sounds of the town below his window, the once-quiet streets having become a lot more active over the past few weeks with the town's restoration. Bain's stomach grumbles loudly, adding to the noise, and he remembers Sigrid and the faint smell of eggs, wondering how long he fell back asleep for. He pushes off the covers and gets up, heading to the window and pulling open the curtains, stumbling back blindly from the brightness of the sun. He shields his eyes and peers down at the wooden walkways, seeing children and adults alike hurry by, shrieking and laughing and going about their merry ways. He searches for any signs of his Da or Sigrid, but when he sees none, he turns away from the window, heading for the door as his stomach grumbles again.

The house is filled with sunlight, all the curtains open, and Bain watches dust motes glint in the air as he makes his way down the steps and through the living room into the kitchen, Tilda's soft giggles floating to meet him in the archway. He pauses there to watch her at the kitchen table, her face lit with a smile but filled with concentration as she paints a piece of parchment lying before her, her fingers a multitude of colors as she smears them across her canvas. One of the townsfolk Bain knows well sits across from her, her face peaceful as she watches Tilda paint, and he realizes that she's softly singing an old war tune, one their mother used to sing them as a lullaby to make them sleep.

An older woman though Ms. Ida is, she is no less beautiful because of it; if anything, age only made her finer. With a slightly pointed nose and long, gray hair that falls down her back, children constantly ask if she's a witch, though when their parents hear about it, the children are punished. One who has seen war and lost her husband to it, Ms. Ida is not a woman to chose a fight with, a lot stronger than many people take her for.

She looks up and smiles at Bain when she notices him standing there, getting up from the table and coming to stand in front of him. Her voice makes him relax and he thinks of how his mother's voice used to do the same, Ms. Ida cupping his cheeks and then touching his forehead, her song coming to a nice end as she stands back and grins at him.

“You remind me so much of your father,” she says as Tilda angles her parchment away from Bain's view, Bain smiling at her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ida,” he says, and she wags her finger at him.

“Your face is soft, innocent. But underneath lies much intelligence, and much strength. Anyone to count you out would be a fool,” she says and Bain blushes slightly, looking down at his feet and then over at Tilda.

“What are you painting?” he asks, and Tilda scrambles to move her paper over some more.

“Nothing! Nothing!” she says and Ms. Ida laughs, moving the paints to the other end of the table.

“Tilda, why don't you sit down here so Bain can't see just yet. As for you, young man, how are you feeling? I don't want your father scolding me for letting you out of bed when you're sick,” she says, turning to look at Bain expectantly, and he nods.

“I feel better, Ms. Ida. Honest,” he promises and his stomach growls loudly, making Tilda giggle as she continues painting.

“Good. We need you feeling better. Sit down now, I'll make you something light to eat,” she says, pulling out a chair for Bain, and he lowers himself into it, Ms. Ida setting about fixing him a meal.

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing his eye, and she gestures to the window.

“Probably well around noon. Your father and sister said they'll be back around supper, so you're stuck with me for the rest of the day,” she says, grinning at him, and Tilda pipes up from the other end of the table.

“I like being stuck with you, Ms. Ida! You know how to make nice art. And you sing pretty,” she says, kicking her feet back and forth under the table, and Ms. Ida laughs like she's not used to the compliment, which Bain wonders if she isn't.

“Thank you, dear. And might I say, you're not so bad an artist yourself,” she says, winking at Tilda, who smiles joyfully and begins to quietly sing the war song to herself.

Bain sits silently and watches as Ms. Ida hunts around the kitchen for what she needs to cook with, taking out a steel pot and setting it out on the counter along with some broth and vegetables. She grabs a wooden cutting board and sets it out next to her ingredients, then picks up two knives and begins to sharpen them on one another, catching Bain's eye as she does so, and he swallows thickly, standing up.

“Do you need help, Ms. Ida?” he asks and she smiles, setting one of the knives down and putting some potatoes on the cutting board, beginning to peel them with expert hands and glancing back at him.

“No need dear, I'm fine. Say, why don't you go take a bath while the soup cooks? I'm sure it'll help you feel better. Do you need help filling the tub?” she asks and Bain shakes his head.

“No, I can manage that. Thank you,” he says and she nods, turning her attention to the potatoes and quickly chopping the first one into little pieces.

Bain shares a smile with Tilda and heads upstairs for the bathroom, stopping in his own room to grab a pair of clean clothes before filling the tub with hot water. He strips off his nightgown and underwear and throws them both into the laundry basket, slowly stepping into the tub and lowering himself down inside it. He sighs and lets himself relax, leaning back against the porcelain and running his wet hands through his hair to dampen it, letting his thoughts wander astray for some time before he quickly washes his hair and body, scrubbing his face with soap and washing it off, finally pulling the plug and standing up out of the tub.

Bain grabs his towel and dries himself as thoroughly as he can, pulling on his underwear and a warm pair of pants, followed by a long-sleeved shirt. He runs his hair through the towel some more and discards it into the hamper, then heads into the hall and back down the stairs. In the living room, he finds Ms. Ida sitting in a chair with Tilda in her lap, telling her a story that has Tilda wide-eyed with anticipation. Hher eyes light up as soon as she sees Bain and she wiggles out of Ms. Ida's lap, shooting off into the kitchen, and Bain stares after her worriedly.

“Have a nice bath?” Ms. Ida asks, standing and fixing her dress, and Bain nods, pushing hair out of his face. “Good, soup's ready. Tilda has something for you as well.”

Ms. Ida beckons with her finger and Bain frowns, following her into the kitchen, where Tilda stands in front of the table, smiling with her painting in one hand and what looks like a group flowers in the other.

“Look, Bain, these are for you!” Tilda says, waving the items at Bain, and he kneels down on one knee in front of her to see, taking the painting from her first and studying it. “See, that's you and me and Ms. Ida,” Tilda says, beaming at her older brother, and Bain laughs, kissing her on the tip of the nose.

“It's beautiful, Tilda. Thank you.”

“This is for you too!” Tilda stuffs the circle of pink flowers under Bain's nose and he sets the painting down on the floor next to him, taking the flowers and studying them. “It's a flower crown. Ms. Ida helped me make it while you were asleep. She made me one, too, so we can match!”

Tilda looks to Ms. Ida, who pulls something down from one of the shelves; a matching flower crown, made of purple flowers. She hums a song as she places it on Tilda's head, taking Bain's crown and fitting it around his head as well, then she bows her head to them, smiling.

“On behalf of the residents here, I now name you Prince and Princess of Lake-town,” she says and Tilda squeals excitedly, Bain laughing and picking his little sister up, hugging her tight.

“It's wonderful, Tilda, thank you,” he says and Ms. Ida picks the painting up off the floor, setting it on the table and motioning to it.

“Okay you two, let's sit and eat,” she says and Bain sets Tilda down in one of the chairs, sliding in next to her as Ms. Ida dishes them all out some soup, setting out three glasses of cold water and some bread as well.

She sits across from them and they all eat silently, contently, the sounds of the town outside winding down as everyone heads home for lunch, save for the few choosing to work through it, like Bain knows Sigrid and their Da will. Ms. Ida makes them all have second helpings, telling them how much they need to grow big and strong like their Da, and once lunch is over, Bain helps Ms. Ida clean up, the three of them heading back out into the living room when they're finished.

“Ms. Ida, will you tell us a story?” Tilda asks as she climbs up onto the couch, Bain sitting down next to her, and Ms. Ida sits in one of the chairs across from them.

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, threading her fingers together and crossing her legs. “What story would you like to hear, child?”

Tilda's face scrunches up like it does when she wants to say something she shouldn't, Bain watching her curiously before she quietly says, “Will you tell us about the dragon?”

Bain blinks at her, a bit stunned she's asking about it to begin with, and he glances over at Ms. Ida, who raises her eyebrows at him, then looks back to Tilda.

“I assumed you knew all about the dragon now,” she says, and Tilda shakes her head.

“People only tell me parts of the story. They say I'm too little, that I'll have nightmares.” Tilda waves her arms around as she talks like it'll prove all that theory wrong, Bain wanting to shake his head at her but deciding not to.

“You don't have nightmares of the dragon?” Ms. Ida asks curiously, tilting her head at Tilda, who nods.

“I do! But I want to know the story,” she says excitedly and Ms. Ida sighs, nodding her head and sitting back.

“I don't blame you, young one. Not knowing what everyone else does can either be a curse or a blessing. Sit still, then, and I will tell you the story.”

Bain reaches around and grabs the quilt off the back of the couch, the one their mother made and finished shortly after Tilda was born, and wraps it around himself and his sister, Tilda snuggling up against his side. Ms. Ida waits for them to get comfortable before she launches into the story, leaning forward as she speaks.

“Now listen well, children, for here be the tale of the desolation of Smaug...”

* * *

The room around Bain slowly fills with light as he watches the sun set over the water outside, he and Ms. Ida placing out lanterns in the living room and kitchen as the rest of the daylight quickly fades. Bain sets a lantern on the table in front of Tilda, who in turn is wrapped tight in the quilt on the couch, chattering away to her favorite toy - her only toy, really. She smiles at Bain and he smiles back, going to close the curtains to the window next to the front door, when he happens to look outside just before he does. There he sees his Da and Sigrid headed for the house, their movements tired, but still they laugh together anyway. Sigrid glances up and locks eyes with Bain, pointing to him and saying something to Bard, who looks up at him as well and smiles.

They both start a quicker jog to the front door, Bain closing the curtains and standing back as he hears their feet pounding up the wooden steps. The door swings open and Bard comes in, glancing around and heading for Bain, who grins at him.

“Bain, you're up!” Bard says, pulling Bain against his chest, and Bain wraps his arms tight around his Da, the fur of his coat tickling his cheek.

“Hi, Da. How was your day?” Bain asks, Bard rubbing circles in his back before pulling away to smile down at him.

“Good. Got a lot of work done. Still a lot more to do though,” Bard says, shaking his head and pulling off his coat, hanging it up and helping Sigrid with hers.

Sigrid sits on the couch next to Tilda, who crawls into her lap and smiles up at Bard, pointing to the kitchen towards Ms. Ida.

“Ms. Ida told us all about the dragon! Didn't she, Bain?” Tilda says excitedly and Bard glances between his two youngest children, Bain pressing his lips into a fine line and shrugging innocently.

Ms. Ida appears in the doorway with a ladle in one hand, her other on her hip, and she shakes it at Bard as she talks to him. “Now, I don't want to hear any lip about that. They asked, it's my obligation to tell. Simple as that,” she says, shrugging, and Bard laughs.

“I hope it wasn't anything too scary,” he says, going to Tilda and smoothing down some fly hairs on her head, and Tilda shakes her head, clutching her doll excitedly.

“No, Da! I want to grow up and slay a dragon just like you! They're mean and nasty, but I'll teach 'em a thing or two!” Tilda says excitedly, shaking her fist in the air, and everyone laughs, Bard de-tangling her from the blanket and picking her up in his arms.

“That's my girl,” he praises, kissing her cheek, and he carries her into the kitchen behind Ms. Ida, Sigrid smiling over at Bain and grinning.

“What else did you three do today?” she asks, giggling, and Bain watches her eyes gravitate towards his head, his cheeks burning as he realizes he's still wearing the flower crown.

He humphs and crosses his arms, turning his chin up and away from Sigrid as though she were a peasant. “Laugh all you want, Sigrid, but I'm now Prince of Lake-town. Ms. Ida said so.”

“Did she now?” Sigrid asks with a laugh, Bain sitting on the couch next to her and placing the crown on her head with a grin.

“You can be Princess, too. I now dub you so,” he says and Sigrid smiles, hugging him tight before picking up the quilt to fold it properly.

“I'm glad you feel better today. Working around all those sick patients, people still hurt from the dragon...it kept me worried about you all day,” she says, shaking her head, her face full of fear.

“Don't worry, I'm fine now. Still a little warm, but Ms. Ida thinks in a day or two I'll be back to full health.”

“I sure hope so,” Sigrid says, laying the quilt on the back of the couch, and Bard appears in the door, smiling at them.

“Come on, guys. Time for supper.”

* * *

The fire crackles in the hearth before them, warming the house as they all sit quiet, content. Five empty cups of tea sit on the living room table next to Bain and Sigrid, where they play their favorite game, Hangman. Bain furrows his brow as Sigrid adds another arm to her drawing, and while he isn't sure what her word is, he's pretty sure he knows the drawing is of the old master's counselor, Alfrid. Tilda yawns loudly on the couch next to Bard and Bain glances over at her, Ms. Ida standing from her chair and smiling.

“I guess I should be off, then. You all need your rest, it's been a long day.”

“Thank you for watching my children, Ms. Ida. May I walk you home?” Bard asks and Ms. Ida shakes her head, pointing towards the door where her coat and short sword hang on the wall.

“Thank you, but I'll be alright. I dare anyone to mess with me,” she says, winking at Sigrid, who laughs, and Tilda tugs on Bard's sleeve, Bard glancing down at her.

“Da, can Ms. Ida stay and tell me a bedtime story? Please?” Tilda asks, pouting and batting her eyes up at Bard, who laughs and looks at Ms. Ida, shrugging.

“I don't see why not, if that's okay with Ms. Ida.”

Ms. Ida laughs and nods her head, holding out her hand for Tilda, who jumps and takes it, Sigrid standing and taking her other one as well.

“Will you tell us how you met your husband? That's my favorite story!” Sigrid says as the three of them head upstairs, Ms. Ida laughing and agreeing to tell it.

“I'll be up soon to tuck you in!” Bard calls after them and stuffs his hands in his pockets, Bain cleaning up the parchment paper and ink they were using.

“Have a good day with Ms. Ida today?” he asks and Bain nods, Bard grabbing the lantern on the table and gesturing to the stairs.

“Go get changed for bed. I'll come tuck you in as soon as I'm done down here,” he says and Bain nods, taking the lantern and heading upstairs.

Bain can hear the girls talking excitedly in Tilda's room as he passes her open door, heading into his own room and setting the lantern next to his bed. He closes the door and changes quickly into his nightgown, shutting the curtain on the window and climbing into bed. A few minutes later the door opens and Bard comes in, sitting down next to Bain and smiling at him.

“I hope whatever this is goes away tonight,” he says, feeling Bain's forehead, and Bain nods, sighing.

“Me, too. I'm sick of being sick,” he says and they both laugh, Bard pulling the blankets tight around Bain's shoulders and grabbing the lantern.

“Goodnight, Bain. I'll see you in the morning,” he says and Bain yawns, muttering goodnight back and curling up under the blankets, the light gone as his door shuts, and soon he drops off to sleep.

* * *

The next day, for the most part, goes without incident. Bard stays home with his children for the day, the four of them spending hours talking and laughing and playing games. They spend the afternoon sitting on the front porch, Bain soaking up the sun, his fever feeling long gone now. Bard gives the leftover fish from their lunch to some visiting dogs, Sigrid and Tilda petting the small things while Bain sits back and watches. Before they know it, the sun is going down, and that's when things get worse.

Bain sits reading on his bed, the lantern lit next to him, though the final hints of sunlight still stream in through the room. His Da went out about an hour ago to help a poor woman who showed up at the door crying, saying her son had gone missing. Sigrid promised to sit on the front porch and watch in case she saw him, and Tilda, Bain figures, is most likely playing in her room, leaving him the peace and quiet he needs to finish his book. He hears shouting outside, but pays no mind to it; not at first, anyway. But soon it grows louder and louder, and he hears the front door bang open, the sound of running feet on the stairs.

Bain sets his book down and opens his door, jumping in fear when he finds Sigrid there, her expression wild and her hand out like she planned to open his door.

“Bain, one of the houses is on fire!” she cries, running back down the steps, and Bain follows her quickly, running to the open front door and looking outside.

Townspeople run by them at lightning speed, shouting in fear, and he sees the blaze not too far off, devouring one of new homes that isn't even completed yet. Bain shuts the door and watches as Sigrid pulls her shoes on, Bain reaching for his, but she slaps his hand away.

“What're you doing? We have to help!” he yells.

“You stay and watch Tilda, I'll go. Besides, you're not in full health for something like this.”

“Sigrid, I'm fine! Stop treating me like a child!”

“I heard you coughing earlier!” she yells back, and Bain deflates, rolling his eyes.

“It was just a cough. And the longer we stand here arguing, the less time we have. Now would you please let me go?”

“No, Bain, please. Just stay here. I'll be back soon,” she says, grabbing her coat and running out the door.

Bain throws his hands up in frustration as he watches her through the window, Tilda's voice behind him making him jump and turn around.

“Bain, what's happened? Where's Sigrid going?” she asks worriedly and Bain shakes his hands out, jittery and unsure what to do. He wants to go out and help, but he can't very well leave Tilda all alone.

“One of the houses caught fire,” he says and Tilda rolls her eyes, Bain smiling at her cute expression.

“You think they would've learned the first time!” she says, throwing her hands up, and Bain laughs, hopping in place and blowing out a puff of air, an idea forming in his head.

“Ms. Merriam next door has kids, doesn't she?” he asks and Tilda nods.

“Yeah, they're my friends!” she says and he grins, handing her her shoes and her coat.

“Perfect. Here, put these on,” he says as he does the same, Tilda cocking her head at him curiously.

“Why?”

“I wanna go help with the fire. Ms. Merriam will watch you while I'm gone, she'll understand,” he says, hoping he can convince their neighbor more than he can convince himself.

“I'll be fine alone,” Tilda whines, pouting as she puts on her shoes, and Bain holds his hand out, Tilda taking it, and he picks her up, carrying her outside and down the steps, over to the neighboring house.

Tilda knocks on the door since Bain's hands are full with, well, her, and Ms. Merriam opens the door, looking bewildered when she sees them standing there, the three of them watching as more people go running by.

“What's with all the commotion?” she asks incredulously, stepping outside, and Bain sets Tilda down next to her.

“There's a fire, I have to go help. Can Tilda stay here for a little while, please? My Da is helping someone else and my sister went to help with the fire,” he says and Ms. Merriam makes an unsure noise as she thinks about it for a minute, then nods, sighing.

“I don't see why not. But my kids are all getting ready for bed, so you'll have to stay quiet,” she instructs Tilda, taking her hand and leading her inside, and Bain shouts a thanks back to her as he takes off running.

* * *

The closer Bain gets to the blaze, the more smoke fills his nostrils, the crowd that's gathered around to watch almost as thick as the air. Some stare in awe, unsure what to do to help, and others mutter anxiously to one another, a few shouting to be heard as they ask if there's been another dragon attack. 

Bain remembers Ms. Ida's story and thinks back to the night the dragon attacked, back to the night he stood on the crumbling tower with his father as they watched the town burn. He pictures the dragon quite clear, hears his voice like a sharp knife cutting through his skull, and for a second Bain feels like he can't breathe, watching the flames dance before his eyes as blurry figures hurry to stop it. He looks up to the sky, the darkening night covered with a layer of smoke, and he thinks he sees a large shadow, jumping back and gasping. Others look up too, quick and worried, but he shakes his head, knowing he just imagined it. He had to. There's no way it was real.

“The dragon is gone,” Bain whispers to himself, someone knocking into him from behind and shoving him further into the wall of bodies. “The dragon is dead.”

Even to himself, though, his voice sounds small, like a lie, and his head begins to pound suddenly, the bodies around him growing closer together, and he can't breathe, can't really see, his entire body shaking and his eyes stinging with sweat. Bain throws his arms out blindly and shoves his way back through the crowd, hearing shouts of protest around him, but they all sound so far away, and he just needs to get out.

He stumbles over to the water's edge and collapses onto his knees, gripping the wooden planks below him, chest heaving. The fire reflects in the black of the water, illuminating its surface, and he feels the flame's warmth even down here, hearing a sound and looking up. He sees fish splashing around at the top of the water, their movements as frantic as the flames, and that's when he feels the pain in his gut, pushing him forward to heave into the water. His throat burns and his eyes sting with tears, and for a second Bain is sure he's going to collapse head-first into the water and drown. Strong hands gripping his shoulders pull him back, though, and he stares up into the scared face of his father, Bard's lips moving quickly, but Bain can't hear him; he can't hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

“Bain? Bain!” he finally hears his father shout and Bain moans, leaning against Bard's chest and feeling his father's grip around his shoulders tighten protectively.

“Bain, look at me. What are you doing here? Where are your sisters?” Bard asks and Bain's head throbs, thoughts jumbling together as he tries to focus on which question to answer first.

“I just wanted to help,” Bain finally croaks, his father having to lean his head down to hear, and Bard pushes hair back from Bain's face, nodding as Bain begins to cough.

“Where are Sigrid and Tilda?” Bard asks, craning to look back towards the crowd and then back down at Bain, who says something but he thinks his words are jumbling together.

“What? Bain, hey, stay awake, look at me,” Bard says, tilting Bain's head up, and Bain sucks in a breath, coughing violently again.

“With the neighbor,” Bain finally says when his coughing dies down, his lungs sorely lacking air, and Bard nods, throwing Bain's arms around his neck and wrapping his own around Bain's back and under his knees.

“Okay. Okay. Let's get you home. We gotta get you home.”

“Da, it hurts.”

“What does? Bain, what does?”

Bain feels himself being lifted and he leans his head on Bard's shoulder, the world around him spinning as the pain continues to pound in his head.

“Everything,” Bain slurs, and that's the last thing he remembers.

* * *

The first thing Bain notices when he wakes up is that he feels different. Lighter. Like everything bad that's ever happened to him was only just a dream. His head feels foggy, and he blinks to clear it away, wondering how long he's been lying here. Sun streams in through the window that sits partway open, cool air blowing inside and ruffling the curtains, and a sudden voice makes Bain jump.

“How do you feel?”

Bain glances next to him where a man sits perched in a chair, a kind smile on his lips, the wind playing with his long brown hair. Then Bain sees his pointy ears and realizes he's not a man at all, but an Elf.

“Where's my Da?” Bain asks, feeling a bit alarmed, and the elf holds his hand out, shushing Bain gently.

“Don't strain yourself. Relax. You are safe in my company.”

Bain leans back against the pillows and slowly lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the elf smiling and nodding encouragingly.

“There, that's better. Now, how are you feeling?”

“Good. Really good, actually,” Bain says, cracking a smile, then frowning. “But I don't remember much.”

“That's understandable. You've had a rough few days.” The elf glances towards the window, then back at Bain, his face falling a bit. “You had a very high fever. You were vomiting a lot. It's good I got here when I did. Your father sent word to my king, who in turn sent me to heal you.”

“How long was I asleep for?” Bain asks, touching his forehead and closing his eyes.

“About three days.”

Bain's eyes pop open and he blinks at the elf, whose face remains a bit concerned, and Bain tries to sit up again, the elf halting him once more.

“Please, just lay still. You still need rest. Here, drink this.” He gets up and grabs a small glass from Bain's bedside table, a dark red liquid resting inside. “Drink this, it will help. And then I will go get your father.”

The elf smiles at him and Bain slowly sits up some, taking the glass and quickly sniffing it. The liquid doesn't smell bad, though since he knows how elegant the elves are, he knows he should not be surprised. The elf nods to him and Bain takes a deep breath, tipping the glass back and swallowing it in one gulp. It doesn't taste bad, thankfully, and Bain licks his lips as he hands the glass back, the elf setting it down and heading from the room, his long robes sweeping across the floor behind him.

Bain pulls the blankets up a bit and lays still, listening, as he hears quiet voices downstairs. Sudden feet running on the steps makes him jolt, and soon his father is rushing into the room, Bard leaning over the bed and kissing Bain on the forehead.

“Thank Gods, you're finally awake,” he says, sounding breathless, and Bain notes the dark bags under his eyes, his face weary and tired and scared.

“You look as bad as I felt,” Bain says with a small laugh and Bard grins, gently sitting down on the bed beside him.

The elf reappears and sits back down in the chair, and Bard glances back at him, shaking his head and taking Bain's hand.

“I don't know how I can repay you or King Thranduil.”

“I'm sure when my lord needs repayment, you will know,” the elf says, not unkindly, and Bard looks back down at Bain, soothing back his hair and shaking his head some more.

“I was so worried. I thought...Bain, if I lost you, I...” Bard visibly swallows the lump in his throat and lets out a long breath, clearing his throat a few times and blinking his eyes some before speaking again. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

The elf suddenly looks back towards the open door and then back at the bed, smiling over at Bain.

“I think some others would like to see you.”

Bard and Bain look to the door where Tilda and Sigrid are huddled, trying to conceal themselves with the wall, and Bard smiles, beckoning them in with a nod. The girls hurry in and around to the other side of Bain's bed, climbing up next to him and throwing their arms around him. Bain laughs and hugs them back, Bard soothing Tilda's hair, and when the girls pull back the elf stands, bowing his head towards the bed.

“I shall be taking my leave now, Master Bowman.”

“Please, let me show you out,” Bard says, glancing down at Bain one last time, then standing and following the elf from the room.

Sigrid and Tilda curl up on the bed beside Bain, and the three of them lay there quietly, Bard returning to the room a minute later, and he hugs all his children.

* * *

The rest of the day seems to pass rather quickly for Bain, who spends a couple more hours in bed before finally getting up and taking a bath, dressing and eating some light soup. He spends some hours sitting on the porch getting some fresh air, talking with his Da about everything that happened, and the rest of the night playing games with his sisters, and before long it's nightfall, the town on the water quiet as everyone settles in for bed.

Bain lays on his father's bed squished comfortably between his sisters, Tilda on his left and Sigrid on his right. The moon shines bright and full through the window, and Bain watches it silently, Sigrid shifting beside him and pulling the covers further up over them. Bard appears in the doorway dressed in his nightgown as well, his hair damp from having just bathed, and he smiles in at them all, crossing the room to the window, but Bain stops him.

“Can you leave the curtains open?” he says, and Bard glances back at him, his face softening, and he nods.

“The moon does look nice tonight, doesn't it?” he asks and the kids all voice their agreement, Bard heading to the other side of the bed and pulling back the covers.

He climbs in next to Tilda and wraps his arm around her, draping it across them all, and he kisses Tilda's head, saying quietly, “Goodnight.”

The three kids say goodnight back and one by one they all fall asleep, Bain the last one awake, and he watches the moon until it disappears from his view, and then he is asleep.


End file.
